The Prophecy and the Templar Scroll

Chapter 6 - 2013

Chapter 6 - 2013

Michael stood by the large French windows in his living room and looked out into the distance. He was in a foul mood. The thought that Adriana had been with him only for his money stung; so did notifying everyone that the wedding was off. He texted a laconic message: runaway bride – wedding’s off, hoping it would stop people from calling to find out what had happened. He did not want to talk about it. Next, he canceled the wedding reception and the honeymoon.

He shook his head, puzzled. Just a few days ago, he was a wealthy, happy man with a great future ahead. How did he get from there to here?

“You’re a lucky man, Michael,” pappou said, folding his newspaper, placing it on the couch next to him.

“You think?” Michael said, raising an eyebrow. He shrugged. “I guess it could have been worse. She could have let me wait for her at the front of the church,” he said self-mockingly.

“You’re better off without a woman who loves you for your money; she will walk out on you the moment she comes across a thicker wallet. Better now, before you have any kids,” pappou concluded with the gelid detachment of a man who had seen it all before.

Michael bit back an irate retort. “Gee, thanks!”

Pappou looked at him kindly. His forbearance under provocation never failed him. “You’re miserable because you’re focusing on what you cannot have. Happiness is being grateful about what you do have: health, youth, a wonderful house, a gift for cooking. Happiness is a choice. Self-pity won’t get you anywhere!”

“What? Has it occurred to you that I’ve lost everything in one night? Not to mention that I have no idea how to go about starting a new business without cash and with the banks closed! This is ridiculous!”

“You were, of course, too young to remember, but when we escaped from the Turks in ’74, we only had the clothes we were wearing. We had literally nothing but one another, and that was plenty! We did it then, we’ll do it again! It’s a different kind of war. They didn’t take our lives and land this time, but our money. Have faith! Have patience! Money comes and goes. They can take away our money, but they can’t take away our smile! Now, I could use some help with the gladioli.” Pappou’s voice was authoritative and unwavering.

Michael looked at the old man with a sense of pride and admiration for his buoyant spirit. It was he who should be giving pappou courage, not the other way around. Experiencing a twinge of shame, he came abruptly to his feet and walked to the door.

“Well, come on! What are you waiting for? Let’s plant the gladioli!” he said, giving pappou the most optimistic smile he could muster up.

*

William Sinclair walked the short distance to the heavy flying buttresses of Chartres Cathedral and looked for the small iron side door. It was unlatched, as they had said it would be. He winced when the gate jarred open against the stone floor, cast a cursory glance around, and stepped inside unnoticed as the bells chimed at midnight.

Though there was no time to marvel at the stained glass windows, he was awed by the mystic atmosphere surrounding him as he descended the narrow spiral staircase, careful not to bump his head on the low ceiling. This was the first time he had been invited to one of the Order’s clandestine meetings. When he had first heard of them, he thought they were no more than a legend. Yet here he was!

If one looked closely, one could detect the remains of engraved hexagons and triangles on the stone wall. He moved toward the circle of the candlelit labyrinth. On the far side of the room, there were four heavy oak seats, covered with vermillion velvet. An eight-pointed cross pattée was carved in the center of the horizontal wooden surface at the top of each seat.

Sinclair proceeded to the inner circle, at the center of the labyrinth, as he had been instructed. Moments later, four dark suits marched in and took a seat, their faces concealed in the shadows.

“Professor Sinclair, you believe you’re in possession of a Templar parchment,” the Grand Master said, his voice resonating in the empty cathedral.

This had been the first time the Grand Master had addressed him, and Sinclair felt a thrill of excitement. “This! It’s a map with the seal of the Order,” he said, holding Lucy’s birthday gift up, struggling to keep the triumph from his voice.

“And you’re certain that this is not one of those imitations readily available in stores?”

“I had it authenticated by one of our own, Professor Keller at UCL.” Sinclair was not discouraged. He had expected them to be suspicious.

“What does it depict in your opinion?”

“Professor Keller believes that the parchment dates back to the early fourteenth century. It’s a map of the Grand Commandery, the area around Kolossi Castle that came into the knights’ possession in 1306, shortly before the trials. An educated guess would be that ‘X’ marks the location where the knights hid a treasure, or maybe documents, before abandoning the island or being thrown into the dungeons. What’s perhaps even more intriguing is the riddle in invisible ink.” He deliberately did not give more away to trigger their curiosity, and it worked.

“A riddle?”

“Yes, it goes like this:

‘You shall find your faith

In Lorraine,

On the tree whose seeds

Weigh gold,

Facing Ursa,

Taking as many strides

As Judas’ pieces of silver.’”

“And have you solved the riddle?”

“I have a working theory about the symbolism, but it would be safer to visit the place first,” Sinclair said circumspectly. “I, therefore, request permission to investigate this further on site.”

“Very well, professor! Leave the map on the seat next to you. We will revert soonest,” the Grand Master said.

The four men rose to their feet and walked in procession, retracing their steps. Sinclair left the map on a nearby seat and walked out of the cathedral, drunk on the illusion that he was now a part of the core of the Order.

*

In her Kensington apartment, Lucy stared at the laptop screen, experiencing a pang of guilt. A part of her was relieved that William had this conference in France. She had to finalize her proposal to UKTV for the next season, and she needed to concentrate.

Lucy did not know if the recent drop in the ratings was related to her effort to be available for William whenever he had time for her amidst his research, classes, meetings, and conferences abroad, but she had come up with a new angle, and she was confident that the board would go along with her suggestions.

She poured herself a glass of Chablis and returned to her proposal for the meeting on Monday.